Miss Fisher Incorporates
by MissTempleton
Summary: Phryne needs to Get Dot Back, and may have a novel solution. In the meantime, Jack feels vulnerable around powerful women, especially if one's just been murdered; and Hugh's going to have to put his foot down.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Cat-like, the Honourable Phryne Fisher stretched, and smiled. The sun was filtering through her curtains, and she had enjoyed a very recuperative nap. If there was one objection she had to married life, it was that her (slightly inadvertently but so far entirely successfully) chosen life partner was a Morning Person, who could rise with the lark.

Fortunately, she was becoming increasingly adept at capitalising on the opportunities said Rising (in every sense, she smirked) offered, and then going back to sleep until a more civilised hour tapped gently on her consciousness and waited to be invited in.

Throwing back the covers, she padded to the bath and turned on the taps. The first important decision of the day made (Essence of Rose), she addressed the second, and alongside it, the third.

She was going to grasp the chance offered by a gap in investigative challenges to go and visit Mrs Hugh Collins; and she was going to do her utmost to persuade Dot to return to her former role as assistant, companion and Right Hand Woman. That meant dressing appropriately.

The cerise day dress, perfectly accessorised with matching amethyst collar and bracelets. The Paisley shawl would pick up the rose shades, and also tone nicely with her favourite peacock cloche and Mary Janes.

She would drive herself, thus guaranteeing that no-one would notice the missing stitch in the hem of the dress, the snag in the shawl or the drooping feather on the cloche – apart from her target audience.

Bathing was undertaken with due ceremony. Coffee and croissant were perhaps inhaled rather than consumed, but Patience had never been one of Phryne's strong suits.

(Her closest friends could, however, attest to her strengths in Clubs – ouch, Diamonds – never during the day, Calling a Spade a Spade and most definitely Hearts).

Surveying her reflection in the hall mirror, she nodded in satisfaction, snatched up her bag and strode out to the Hispano-Suiza, sitting obediently outside the gate of 221B The Esplanade.

The journey to South Melbourne was achieved in the traditional fashion – to wit, faster and more gleefully than was considered appropriate by more or less everyone but the controller of the vehicle. The city was all the better for the experience.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Miss Fisher!" The delight in Mrs Collins' voice was unmistakeable, even if it was delivered in a whisper. The volume-check was undoubtedly a function of the small person balanced over her right shoulder as she held the door open with her other hand.

Phryne, being no more anxious to wake Gid (judging the identity of the twin by its clothing) than his loving mother, waggled her fingers and sneaked in to the hallway. There were, she reflected, advantages in her experience of Entering Buildings By Stealth.

Dorothy opened the parlour door and gestured her guest in, before whisking off to the nether regions of the small house to deposit her slumbering load.

Within a matter of minutes, though, she was back, armed with a freshly-made pot of tea, some home-made biscuits and the brightest, happiest smile Phryne had seen in the absence of Senior Constable Collins, who could usually conjure one from His Dottie just by showing up.

With a weather eye to the gently-closed door, Phryne kept her tones muted, but her warmth was undiminished.

"Dot, I'm missing you."

"I … see that, Miss," she ventured shyly. "You wouldn't like to leave the shawl with me?"

"Oh, I don't mean that – though of course you're right, and it pains me to have to ask you to mend it, but I can't treat this gorgeous thing in the same way as a pair of stockings."

It didn't even occur to Mrs Collins to point out that a pair of stockings would, in their earlier lives, be equally likely to be mended rather than thrown away. On such tactfulness, real friendship is forged.

Phryne continued, warming to her theme.

"I'm missing you so much, that I have a proposal to put to you. You needn't answer straight away, because you'll have a lot to think about, and you'll probably feel you have to discuss it with that Constable of yours – but it's this."

With a slight flourish, she opened her bag and pulled out an elegantly engraved calling card, of the type that she had left in countless butlers' trays across the world, announcing her identity as The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.

This one was different, though. The name Fisher was indubitably present. However, it was coupled with a rather interesting companion.

 _Fisher and Collins – Detectives_

Dot picked it up with furrowed brow, and then looked up at Miss Fisher with widened eyes.

"Miss, I don't understand?"

Phryne grinned. "It's simply this, Dot. I want you back, but I realise that a) you are deeply embroiled in this Motherhood malarkey and b) even if you wanted to spend more time away from Meggie and Gid, you'd have to pay the lovely Miss Stubbs to cover for you."

She leaned forward and took Dot's hand.

"It's a big ask, Dot – what I want to know is whether, if I made you a partner in the business, with a fair share of the fees we earned that would make you rather better off than you are now, would that be a good reason for you to come and spend more time with me? And that's why I need you to think about it, and talk to Hugh. The poor dear's already had to cope with a far more modern woman as wife than he bargained for; and for all I know, you could be wanting to spend more time with your babes, not less."

Mrs Collins was, quite simply, floored; which was to be expected.

"Miss, how could I possibly be a partner? You're the one who takes the lead in everything. I just … follow along and make notes."

Miss Fisher sat back in her armchair and shook her head.

"Maybe that was true at first, Dot, but we both know it's not been true for quite a while. How often has it been you who makes the important breakthrough? The connection that no-one else would have spotted?"

Dot had to admit that she'd had some success, and Phryne could see that the idea was starting to take hold. Satisfied, she stood to take her leave, shedding as she did so the snagged shawl and folding it briskly. Dot took it from her with relief – this was a challenge she was definitely up to. She wasn't at all sure about the other bombshell her employer had let drop, which was giving her a feeling in her stomach which might have been nausea. It could, however, have been excitement, and a little peace and quiet with her needle would help her decide which.

She watched Phryne settle the cloche on her head, and bit her lip.

"Miss, would you like to leave the hat with me too? I can have a go at strengthening the feather."

Phryne glanced at herself in the mirror and, with a wry grin, tore the hat off and tousled her hair straight again with her other hand.

"Here you are, Dot dear – you're a marvel. Thank you."

Stepping out of the front door, however, Phryne realised that she was going to have to journey back across town hatless, and decided that was too great a sacrifice for her complexion to make, even in the interests of Fisher and Collins. She executed a nifty reverse-step-about-turn and shut the door behind her.

The thud which accompanied the exercise was definitely not the over-rhythmic descent of a Mary-Jane on the parquet. A swift, but slight, re-opening of the front door of Collins Towers confirmed what Phryne had already suspected.

There was a meaningful calibre of lead embedded in the woodwork.

It wasn't often that Phryne saw red. Usually, her favoured chromatic genre was black and white, because it made things simpler. Occasionally, and especially when those closest to her were involved, there could be an element of rose tint applied and no-one saw the need to take exception. Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson could also attest to her fondness for a Wishy-Washy Grey where the finer points of the law were concerned (especially around Breaking and Entering).

If anyone took exception, it was exclusively because she had invited them to do so and prepared accordingly.

As this had not fit into that model, and moreover, had put her dependents in danger, Red rather understated the case.

This was Scarlet, with added tones of flames to the soles of the feet. Also the bloodstained tones of drawn fingernails. The colours appropriate to certain other parts of the body cannot be described here, owing not to any particular consideration for the reader, because you are a resilient type, but because of the lack of the light of day when her mind's eye saw them removed.

Without Anaesthetic.

Mrs Collins was still in the hallway, and watched in mystification as Miss Fisher fumed her way to the telephone.

"Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, please."

She tapped her nail impatiently on the table top.

"Jack, it's me. I think you need to get yourself over here to Dot and Hugh's house as soon as possible."

"Believe me, Jack, this is as far from a social call is it's possible to get. Bring Hugh, but make sure he knows everyone here is fine, we need him not to panic and you know what he can be. Oh, and Jack? Make as much noise as you like on your approach, and bring a gun."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The Inspector took his wife at her word, and would not have taken kindly to a question as to whose welfare, of all the occupants of the Collins house, was at the time most important to him. Within a very short time, the quiet street was resounding to the bell of the police car, which came around the corner on two wheels and screeched to a halt outside the Collins' house. The doors flung open to disgorge two grim-faced and very anxious policemen, who scanned the deserted street before sprinting to the house and barrelling through the front door, thrown open on their approach and just as swiftly closed behind them.

Hugh grabbed his wife's hand and headed through to the nursery without a backward glance. Jack caught Phryne in a bone-crushing hug, and sought the comfortable chairs in the parlour to compare notes.

Phryne explained swiftly what the sequence of events had been, and then paused, elbows on knees, fists under chin, eyes half closed in thought.

"Two things, Jack. First, it was me they were after. No-one who wasn't actually blind could mistake Dot and I when viewed from the front in broad daylight, and whoever fired that shot had excellent eyesight, albeit poor timing. So while I wasn't about to leave Dot and the babes on their own, I hope you'll agree with me that they're not at risk, and although Senior Constable Collins might usefully be asked to work on a few files at home for the next couple of days, it's a precaution rather than a necessity." Jack nodded wordlessly. He had more sense than to try to persuade Collins to attend the office when there was fresh lead in his front door.

"Second, and more worryingly, I have absolutely no idea why anyone could be trying to injure, maim or kill me. Part of the reason I was here today was because I'm between professional engagements."

She fixed him with a straight look that he was, despite his better instincts, inclined to trust.

"Unless this is something resurrected from my past, Jack, there's not an ounce of excuse for someone to do it, that I'm aware of."

He was clearly still worried. "What about unfinished business from a past case? Should we check the list of recently released prisoners?"

She wrinkled her nose.

"You could." She raised an eyebrow. "What am I saying? We both know you will go back at least six months. Not my style, though, Jack."

She clasped her hands round one knee and leaned back.

"I don't leave loose ends – not in crimes and not in criminals. The people I've sent to jail were properly caught – no hidden mysteries, no lingering grudges that weren't shown the relentless light of day. I'm not saying there isn't a crim out there who doesn't want my neck, but I'm pretty sure the ones who get out will cheerfully leave me alone rather than start anything."

The Detective Inspector evinced professional scepticism. Her husband nodded understandingly, reiterated his fond opinion that her neck should remain intact and asked her if he could escort her back to St Kilda. She generously allowed them to collectively take the wheel of the Hispano, being (she privately admitted) rather more shaken than she would like.

However, their departure was delayed by more than an hour. Phryne could insist until she was blue in the face that it was a pointless exercise – that the would-be killer had been scared off by the arrival of two robust representatives of the Victoria police force – but Mr Robinson had decided Mrs Robinson was not going to be let out of the house until he had knocked on the door of every property in the vicinity and satisfied himself that no firearms-bearing occupants were going to cut his marriage short by ballistic means.

When they arrived back at her home without further mishap, he walked her up the path to her door and closed it behind them with relief. As she removed her hat and scrubbed at her hair absently, he took off his trilby and turned it in his hands, crushing the felt in way that would have had Mr Buzolich, its proud manufacturer, wincing.

"I'm sorry, this is going to be very boring for you for a while."

She looked up at him, brow furrowed.

"Whatever do you mean? What's going to be boring?"

"Well, having to stay here until we find out who it was that tried to shoot you," Jack shrugged. "I know it's the last thing you'll be wanting to do."

"But Jack …" there was a short silence. During that silence, Jack berated himself for having thought even for an instant that hiding from a killer was something his wife could contemplate; and Phryne ran rapidly through the available strategies that would avoid her having to make any commitment to staying indoors, given the unfortunate tendency her conscience had for jumping up and down and shouting at her when she contemplated Lying to Jack.

They looked at each other. Years of understanding and months of new, publicly-testified loving covenant were encapsulated in two equally-plaintive pairs of eyes.

"Phryne, please?"

"Jack, you can't think …"

… came out at the same time.

Stalemate.

 _Not quite_ , thought Phryne.

"I've already been out of doors, though, since it happened; and obviously having a protector beside me made a difference," she said winsomely. He ground his teeth, but couldn't deny it.

"So, if I promise that I'll only ever go out with Bert, Cec or Mr B in tow …?" This time with a direct look. _Don't make me lie to you. You know I won't stay indoors just for this_.

She still wasn't proof against the look she got in return.

 _I can't lose you_.

He swallowed hard. "Let them come out first, please, and look around. And if you can take the cab rather than the Hispano it will always be better."

A swift, hard hug and he left before he had to try to reason any more with his dearly beloved, utterly incomparable, entirely unreasonable wife.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Jack Robinson didn't like naked, except in certain circumstances and with an audience he'd personally selected. (Then, he was absolutely fine with the idea. Occasionally ecstatic.) The call he received the following afternoon at his desk at City South presented him with a circumstance that was decidedly not of the ecstatic variety, even if the nakedness was only metaphorical and professional.

A death – unfortunate, but bearable for the investigator. _It's my job, after all._

Almost certainly a murder. _Okay, see above_.

At a luncheon. _I do, on occasion, consume lunch. I know what's involved even with extra syllables added for decorum._

A luncheon at which the only attendees (waiting staff not included) were female. _Starting to look for defences to deploy._

A luncheon solely for women at which a murder had taken place and the victim was a candidate for the legislative assembly of the State of Victoria. _Searches in-tray for a convenient gangland slaughter that might take priority._

The victim apparently strangled in the bathroom of the home of not one, but two illustrious academics on the outskirts of Toorak. _Drafts resignation._

Despite his best efforts, there was nowhere to hide, and no obvious reason to call in his favourite reinforcement, however much he might wish he could. He therefore turned up at the Toorak residence of Professors Christopher and Enid Satterthwaite feeling as though his favourite three-piece suit and trusty raincoat were made of tissue paper. Even the maid who answered the door looked straight through him.

When he was shown into the drawing room, he didn't know whether to be relieved or furious.

"Miss Fisher."

"Inspector."

She drew him to a quiet corner by the fireplace, while the rest of the assembled company tried hard to pretend they weren't avidly interested in proceedings.

"I'm sure you must be wondering why I'm here."

"On the contrary, Miss Fisher, I'm wondering what essence of lunacy had me entertaining the thought that you wouldn't be."

"Mrs Lin asked that I be telephoned. She appears to regard me as an ally. Given the nature of the crime, I can understand why she might be looking for at least impartial support."

"Mrs Lin?" He quickly scanned the room again, and spotted the petite and perfectly composed wife of Melbourne's leading silk trader. That lady's ability to continue as a close friend of the woman who had for some time acted as her husband, Lin Chung's concubine was one of the many mysteries Jack had tried hard to avoid fathoming. Now that she was here, in the room, at the scene of a murder, he realised resignedly that this was going to be One Of Those Complicated Cases.

As turning on his heel, running to the door, leaping behind the wheel of his car and driving to the nearest purveyor of strong drink and non-judgemental conversation appeared not to be an option, Jack did the next best thing.

When he opened his eyes again five seconds later, Miss Fisher was regarding him steadily and urgently.

"Jack, I know you had an early start, but this is no time for a nap. You have in this house five women – six if you count me – who can basically command the attention and influence of Melbourne's elite – and when I say elite, I mean it in the truest sense. Their sphere is the people who are smart, or well-born, or hard-working, or just plain rich. The one person missing from the room is the woman who stood every chance of being elected to political office, and she's lying dead in the bathroom."

"Thank you, Phryne, for reminding me of all the reasons why I had already decided I would rather be anywhere else but here," he said wearily. "At least tell me you didn't drive yourself?"

She scowled at him. "I gave you my word, much as it pains me. Cec brought me in the taxi. It took forever. I need to give him driving lessons."

Jack chewed his cheek at this last observation and excused himself to go and examine the body.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The ground floor bathroom at the Satterthwaite house was reached by going to the back of the house, where a long corridor ran the width of the building, with an external door at either end. Straight ahead of Jack was the green baize door behind which the staff were presumably waiting eagerly for his attention; but instead, he turned left and at the end of the corridor, came to a prettily-decorated room, with a not-at-all pretty cadaver on the floor. The patter of elegantly-shod feet behind him told him that Miss Fisher was rejecting the opportunity to remain behind.

Without turning round, he asked, "Who found the body?"

"Enid Satterthwaite," replied Phryne. "They were wondering why she'd been so long, so the Professor came to check on her. Apparently this door to the garden was wide open at the time, so her scream was probably audible half way to Sydney."

The door was now closed. "Who closed it, do you know?" She shook her head.

"I haven't got round to asking many questions yet."

"But you knew the deceased?"

She nodded. "Caroline Conway. Excellent woman. A widow, who was showing every sign of being likely to take over her husband's seat in Parliament House."

Jack kneeled down to take a closer look at the body. Phryne leaned lightly on his shoulder as he gently lifted away the victim's collar to show the violent red marks.

"Strangulation," she remarked. "With what?"

They both glanced straight to the window, but the blind was present and correct, complete with cord. Phryne wandered back out into the corridor, and a short while later, Jack heard a muttered " _Bingo_ ".

Straightening, he followed the sound and saw her standing by a corridor window facing to the rear of the house, looking up.

"Give me a leg up, Jack?"

It was, of course, pointless to ask if he could go and find a ladder. Bracing himself against the wall, he cupped his hands under her shoe, letting her reach up to the window blind and pull it down. Hopping down again, she examined the wooden lathe at its foot. There had clearly, at some point, been a sash cord present. It had, equally clearly, been forcibly removed.

Jack pursed his lips and met her victorious gaze. She could, he thought, try to do victorious a little less convincingly, especially when he was the one who'd provided the necessary Inspectorly muscle. Rather than rain on her parade, though, he gave her a fresh challenge.

"So, opportunist, then?" He couldn't see it himself. One didn't just happen on the chance to kill one of the highest-profile politicians in the state.

Phryne shook her head as well.

"It has all the signs, except for the fact that it was Caro Conway."

By unspoken consent, they both wandered back to the door; Jack used his handkerchief to open it, and they stepped out into the neatly-manicured garden. A footpath led past the door, appearing to encircle the building. The briefest of scans showed that there were no footprints to be helpfully examined, and the murder weapon didn't appear to be discarded in any of the nearby shrubbery.

Jack made a mental note to have the rest of the garden searched, and showed his hands in his pockets.

"I think it's time we asked the other ladies one or two questions, Miss Fisher. As a gesture of my grateful thanks for your help so far, you may attend the process."

He then leaned in to whisper in her ear.

" _And for God's sake don't let any of them bite me._ "

Even as he grabbed her hand to drag him after her, she was burying the snort, which was as inappropriate as it was unladylike, in her sleeve.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

He politely stood back to let her enter the drawing room first, and they discovered a tableau that was worthy of representation in oils. Rubens only had the Medici cycle to represent powerful women; but then, he hadn't had the present cast to pose for him.

The eye was first drawn to Camellia Lin; the smallest person in the room, but in her festive red, the brightest by far. She had withdrawn to undertake a cursory examination of a card table which, when folded into its current semi-circular shape, exhibited a marquetry pattern; the fact that it allowed her to position herself with her back to the wall was probably pure coincidence. Or, for anyone who knew her abilities in hand-to-hand fighting, nothing of the kind.

Slightly in front of Mrs Lin, and seated in a winged chair, was a lady he at least knew a little. Regina Charlesworth, editor of Ladies Choice magazine, which was becoming increasingly active in educational circles, since having to significantly reinvent itself on the loss of most of its staff through being either a) murderer or b) murdered.

Leaning against the piano was a very slim, very elegant blonde Jack could vaguely place. Not being an habitué of the fashion world since a memorable encounter with a very dangerous dress, it was understandable that he didn't immediately recognise Jennifer Lawless, chief executive of Victoria's leading chain of department stores. Phryne certainly did know her, and with silent applause identified her dress as faux-ready to wear – selected from the rails of her store, but subtly tailored to fit in a way that focussed attention on the wearer, not the dress.

Front and centre was a grand dame of the old school. Pearls of decorous length and dark silk cut along flattering rather than forgiving lines were the choice of Professor Enid Satterthwaite, who had positioned herself on the sofa.

It was such a perfect composition that he almost did a double take when the Professor extended a regal hand, as though to identify the tableau's precise Golden Section.

Then he realised she was just inviting him to sit down, so he complied, hastily removing his hat like a fourth former being summoned willy-nilly into the headmaster's office.

"Professor Satterthwaite," he began apologetically – and then firmly reminded himself that it wasn't his fault. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"I am afraid we will need to ask everyone some questions about the murder of Mrs Conway. First, could you let me know who was in the premises at the time you discovered the body?"

Only once she had started to speak did he recall that his trusty note-taker was still at home with his family. Hastily, he pulled out his own notebook and frantically worked to catch up.

 _Good God, Robinson, they're women, not Harpies_.

Then he found he was writing "harpy" instead of "husband" and struck the mistake out with rather more force than was strictly necessary.

Trying his best to write, think and talk at the same time, he asked "So your husband didn't join you for the meal?"

"No."

No explanation, no extra detail. As a witness in court, she would be superb. To a hapless Senior Detective Inspector, she was decidedly heavy going. His exceedingly entertained wife took pity on him.

"So, apart from you all here, there was just your husband in his study having lunch on a tray, and the three staff in the kitchen area?" asked Phryne.

There were not, he thought, such blessings on earth as a loving, faithful and dutiful wife. Well, a beautiful one anyway. Dutiful was a bit of a stretch.

"I wonder if there is somewhere we could speak to each of you alone for a few minutes?" Trying, and failing, not to sound like a ten year old asking for extra pocket money for bubblegum.

"Certainly, Inspector. The library should suit your purpose, I believe," responded the Professor. "As the first person on the scene, shall I come along first?"

He stammered that that would be great. Then realised "great" wasn't likely to be the adjective applied by his hostess. Then gave up, held his notebook and hat in one hand and the door handle in the other, and allowed himself and his aforementioned LFB wife to be escorted to the library. As she sashayed past him in a waft of glee and Jicky, he channelled his inner Baptista and muttered, " _Was ever gentleman thus grieved as I?"_

Without as much as a pause she capped him.

" _What, with my tongue in your tail?_ "

He was truly adorable when he blushed, she thought. Although she might moderate her Shakespeare quotes in future. In the interests of efficient crime fighting and everything.


	7. Chapter 7

As might have been expected, the library was liberally overstocked. Books filled the shelves both on end and slotted in sideways on top of their colleagues. There were a few bookmarked examples on the table and a beautiful and ornate clerk's reading-desk, placed facing out of the window towards the garden.

The Professor caught Jack's admiring glance and approved.

"My back, Inspector," she explained. "I find it hard to sit and read for long, so I sometimes have to stand and read. The lectern makes it bearable."

She fitted actions to words in her wince as she settled in what was clearly "her" chair – a sagging apology to upholstery that had clearly given long and stalwart service. The detectives disposed themselves around her in the available space.

"Shall I run you through the timetable, Inspector?" she asked politely. He acquiesced gratefully.

"The guests arrived at around twelve. Miss Charlesworth was first by some margin – which was typical of her, and lovely for me, we chatted for a while about the work she's been doing to try to promote university education among women. Mrs Lin arrived on the dot of midday," she observed.

Jack essayed a question.

"I have met Mrs Lin before, Professor, but was quite surprised to find her here today – had you known her long?"

"No, didn't know her at all," replied the Professor flatly. "However, she was introduced by Regina, and I was eager to meet her."

She regarded Jack coldly.

"I am an historian, Inspector. It is therefore entirely logical that I am a Sinophile. The Chinese were developing a printing press while we were still smearing the ink on our faces. Mrs Lin is an excellent demonstration of the reason why such rapid development might be explained. Striking as a businesswoman, an intellectual – and a politician."

Suitably chastised, he thanked her and asked her to continue with her account.

"Jen Lawless and Caro Conway arrived together – equally late, equally apologetic as ever. Caro had been at Jen's store, trying to put together her clothes for the forthcoming campaign."

The Professor shut her eyes and shuddered – Jack feared he was about to be found wanting in terms of gender again. He wasn't wrong.

"Since when has a man ever had to worry about what he wears in order to achieve his ends, Inspector?" she demanded in exasperation. "A good wool suit and a nondescript tie and you can go to most places and speak to practically anyone. For a woman, you wear the wrong shade, neckline, length of skirt or even heel on your shoe and your cause is lost before you open your mouth."

Phryne smiled.

"Is that why you were all here, Professor? To try to make the conversation about more than fashion choices?"

The older woman nodded. "Enid, please. There are so many Professor Satterthwaites in this house that we will drown in a spray of spittle if we're not careful."

Jack seized on the opportunity.

"I think I understand now why your husband wasn't at lunch." He paused, and tipped his head. "Did you see him at all after your guests started arriving?"

"Absolutely not," she responded with a half-smile. "Christopher works hard, but he would have to be a glutton for punishment to spend much time in the company I was enjoying."

She broke off and gazed into middle distance, recalling the company and – specifically – that part of it which was now lacking. Then focussed on him in sudden fury.

"Damn it, Inspector! Have you any idea how much injury has been dealt today, not just to Caroline Conway, but to Australian women?"

As he hadn't, and felt it would be inflammatory to say so, he could only look down and wait for the storm to pass. It did so, in the style of a stately galleon, as Phryne politely opened the door to allow the Professor to leave.

The remaining interviews were variations on the same theme, given that there had been so little time for the women to separate; it turned out that when Mrs Conway left the room, she had been the first to do so. Regina Charlesworth was distraught that once again, her encounter with Phryne, a former star pupil, should be accompanied by horrid death; but the newspaperwoman in her was already fighting the urge to write about it, so Phryne wasn't too worried for her former teacher's wellbeing and Jack had to formally caution Miss Charlesworth against responding to her professional instinct.

Miss Lawless was also distraught at the death of a woman she had increasingly come to know as a friend as well as a very good customer, but freely admitted that the publicity would help rather than hinder her business, if anything, when it came out. She also admitted to being in the early stages of negotiations with Mrs Lin over silks; she had worked with Lin Chung in the past, but working with a woman was … different. Oddly, risks appeared less risky when presented by someone who appeared empathetic.

Mrs Lin gave little away, her obligatory loyalty to her hostess fighting a winning war against her natural urge to help Phryne and, by extension, Jack. She did, though, say diffidently,

"But of course, we were all in the drawing room, and could see nothing. Perhaps ... the staff?"

Then smiled, and the matter was closed.

The kitchen was naturally the next place that the Inspector and Miss Fisher would continue their enquiries, after all, they agreed.


	8. Chapter 8

Mr and Mrs Herbert struggled to their feet when Jack and Phryne ventured over the kitchen threshold. Cups of tea were replaced in saucers of fine bone china, and hands wiped surreptitiously on aprons. The only sign of the maid was a third cup, sitting empty on the table, and the sounds of someone shifting items in what was probably a larder, through a door on the opposite side of the room.

The kitchen was a good size – Phryne could almost hear Dot's judgement, a _long way to walk, though, Miss_. It had the same high sash windows as were to be found at the front of the house, albeit with a more prosaic view of the kitchen garden, for whoever happened to be working at the sink.

The sleuths introduced themselves, and everyone sat at the table. Mrs Herbert leaned back in her chair to shout " _Tillie!_ " in the direction of the larder, and the maid who had so unnerved Jack at the front door presented herself.

"Not sure we can tell you very much, mind," said Mrs Herbert, folding her hands comfortably over her ample girth. "I made the lunch, Tillie served it and Mr H did the wine. Once they'd finished, we didn't go back through at all."

"We believe that the killer entered through the side door, next to the bathroom," explained Jack. "Can I ask what time you finished serving the meal?"

Tillie and Mrs Herbert exchanged thoughtful looks.

"About two, was it, when you took in the flummeries, Tillie?"

"Reckon so, Mrs H."

Mrs H nodded decisively. "That'd be right. Then Mr H and me went to his pantry for a sherry and feet up, and you did the coffee." She gave an approving look to the girl, and informed the sleuths, "I'm a cook, you know, but it's Tillie as does the coffee. That funny Italian stuff that the missus likes."

Phryne smiled and leaned forward.

"I'm a fan of it myself. So, Tillie, you would have been in the kitchen for a while after lunch. Did you happen to catch sight of any strangers in the garden when you were preparing the coffees?"

Tillie looked up and away, as if in thought, and then back at Phryne.

"No strangers, no, Miss. And if there'd been someone out there I would've been bound to see them, wouldn't I?"

Jack nodded, going to the window to scan the view. The footpath that they had seen passed right under the window, and by craning just a little, he could see almost all the way to the corner of the house where the door in question would give egress. In the other direction, the same observation held.

He turned back to face the room, and saw a tall, silver-haired gentleman standing in the doorway.

"Good afternoon ... Professor?" he hazarded.

The man smiled. "In this currently decidedly feminine household, a safe bet. Are you the policeman my wife has just mentioned to me?"

Jack performed the introductions.

"I think we're about finished here – thank you, Mrs Herbert. Professor, could you spare us a few minutes just to complete our initial questions?"

The man inclined his head politely, and led the way out of the staff quarters. Jack followed, and only realised a moment later that Phryne wasn't with them. He backtracked, and saw her talking quietly to Tillie. When he appeared in the doorway, she looked up and smiled.

It didn't matter how often he saw it, or what the circumstances; when it was just for him, that smile would always give a tiny adrenaline shot.

 _Please God, let it be ever so_. For a man who had little by way of religious belief – understandable, given the daily evidence thrust on him of how badly wrong humanity could go – Jack was on remarkably chatty terms with his imaginary friend.

They walked together down the corridor to the study.

"Problem?"

"Hope not," she responded easily. "Just trying to put in some insurance."

They were nearly at the study door.

"Tell me later?"

"Of course. Might be nothing, anyway."

Christopher Satterthwaite was urbane, warm and utterly unhelpful.

"I'm sorry, Inspector – Miss Fisher. The simple fact is that while I appreciate my wife's need to commune with the people she sees as like minds, I have so little in common with them that I have to hide. I am so much happier here with a book, or the newspaper," he gestured in front of him to plentiful evidence of both, "and a bowl of soup than trying and failing to be polite to angry women."

"Angry?" Phryne raised an eyebrow humorously. "I do hope they're not throwing the china at each other in that dining room, Professor, it would be a waste of splendid workmanship."

He chuckled indulgently. "Oh no, Miss Fisher – but I couldn't guarantee that they wouldn't throw it at me if I had the temerity to join them and express my views! No, it's definitely better for me to maintain a discreet distance at these events."

Having confirmed that apart from having his lunch brought to him at his desk by Tillie, he'd heard and seen no-one until after the body was discovered, they made polite farewells.

Strolling out to Jack's car, they were both lost in thought. Phryne broke the silence first, as they settled in their seats and closed the doors.

"Can I come back to the station and use your 'phone, Jack? I want to see if I can persuade Dot out of the house to find something out for me."

He elected to ignore the use of the first person singular, assuming (possibly correctly) that if his wife had something he needed to know about a murder he was investigating she would tell him straight away. Then bethought himself of another question.

"What were you talking to Tillie about?"

She turned slowly to him, and shook her head doubtfully.

"I was really just asking her again what we'd asked her already. I don't know, Jack – it could just be my naturally suspicious nature, but I wondered if she knows more than she's letting on. The part I don't understand is why, if she does, she wouldn't tell us there and then. What could she possibly be afraid of, in a room full of people?"

"Including …" she nudged him teasingly, "a tall, handsome police officer, who would be thrilled to bits by a young woman who could hand him the solution to his crime?"

He agreed that his attractions were such as to render any susceptible female helpless.

She raised her hand as though to caress his cheek, but instead tweaked his nose.

It all went a bit downhill from there, but they made it back to City South in one piece, and it only took Phryne a few minutes to repair the damage to her lipstick.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Dot?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Do you think you might be able to persuade Hugh to take you out for a little while?"

"Oh, I do hope so, Miss. He's starting to get on my nerves – he keeps going to the windows and checking the street, and telling me not to fetch the milk in, and when Miss Stubbs arrived this morning to look after the twins for a while, he practically snatched her through the door."

"Well, if you can, get him to take you to the _Argus_ offices. If you have to, tell him Jack wants him to go too – then he'll have to take you with him, won't he?"

The Inspector paused in the act of leafing through his in-tray to glare at her. He might well approve of his Senior Constable being detailed to assist in the murder investigation – in fact, he preferred it that way, as it made it less likely that he would have to wait on Miss Fisher's pleasure before finding out the results of the work – but it didn't mean he was going to let her get away with such blatant manipulation of police resources.

She knew exactly what he was thinking, and stuck her tongue out, which obviously settled the argument conclusively.

"What are we looking for, Miss?"

Phryne rapidly explained the circumstances surrounding the politician's murder.

"We want to know what kind of trouble Caroline Conway was in, if any. Was she making political enemies, or maybe even ones in the business world somewhere? So, Dot, anything you can find in the recent archives on her policies, speeches she made, that sort of thing. The other women at this lunch definitely don't look like candidates for her murderer, so we need some ideas of where to look next to find the person who sneaked in the side door of the Satterthwaite house and strangled her."

"Got it, Miss. We'll go as soon as Miss Stubbs gets here in the morning."

Miss Fisher replaced the Inspector's phone, and regarded him, pensively.

He regarded her back, apprehensively.

"What?"

"I was just thinking – perhaps you should try and tackle Tillie again tomorrow. If she knows something, we need to get it out of her somehow, and she wouldn't tell me."

He looked at her with growing suspicion.

"What, exactly, do you think I can do that we haven't already done, Miss Fisher?"

"Oh, you know," she said – airily, so he was right to be suspicious. "Just reassure her that the strong arm of the law will protect her. I expect she'd like that; all women like to feel protected, you know."

 _Except you_ he thought wryly. And scolded mildly. "Stop it, Phryne. I am a police officer, not a bodyguard."

 _Unless it's for me_ she thought happily, and took his arm to lead him to the car. A cocktail and one of Mr B's dinners would soon have him come round to her way of thinking.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

In the event, they both saw Tillie again the next day, but not quite in the manner planned.

Jack was writing up the previous day's events when the call came through.

"Inspector? Elizabeth Macmillan."

Jack put his pen down and sat back in his chair. An unscheduled call from the coroner's office was always worthy of his full attention.

"Mac? Something wrong? Is it the Conway case?"

"In a way. Caroline Conway was murdered at the Satterthwaite house, wasn't she?" Jack confirmed the fact.

"I've just heard of an accident outside Lawless & Co on Collins Street."

"Oh?" Not Jack's area, but the precise location was … interesting.

"Indeed. And I heard of it from a lady who was asking the way to one of the wards. A Professor Enid Satterthwaite."

"What?" Jack was on his feet now. "Was the victim her husband?"

"No," replied Mac. "Her maid. In a bad way, apparently. Here's hoping I don't have another body to examine before the end of the day."

Jack thanked her, hung up and immediately redialled.

"Mr Butler? Jack Robinson. Please ask Miss Fisher to be ready to leave as soon as possible – that I'm on my way over because we need to get to the hospital. Tell her Tillie's been in an accident. Thank you."

Phryne admitted that not even she would have covered the distance to the hospital quite so quickly, and toyed with the idea of getting a police bell fitted to the Hispano; then decided regretfully that the Detective Inspector might take a Dim View.

The ward, when they reached it, not only contained the heavily-bandaged Tillie, whose head was barely visible and such as was visible, roughly the same shade as the sheets on which she lay; it also contained a very pale Professor Enid Satterthwaite – and a gentleman who was no more delighted to see Jack than Jack was to see him. Phryne took one look at Repellent Rossiter, as she had come to term Jack's counterpart from North Melbourne police station and stifled a groan.

"Inspector – Phryne – I'm so glad to see you," exclaimed the Professor, at roughly the same time that Rossiter barked "What are you doing here, Robinson?"

Jack nodded politely at the lady and walked to a corner of the room, indicating that Rossiter should follow. Speaking in a low voice, he explained about the previous day's murder, and asked – as politely as he could manage when addressing a person who had, in Jack's view, been promoted wildly above his capabilities – whether there were any details of the accident.

Rossiter sulked, but could not object to the enquiry – he, as yet, did not have a murder on his hands.

"Not much. The girl was hit by a car as she came out of the shop. Driver didn't stop, and none of the passers-by thought to get the number or make. I have one witness who said they thought it was black." He rolled his eyes.

"I might have to go and speak to Miss Lawless – okay with you?" asked Jack with all the appearance of deference.

"As long as you let me have a copy of the report," replied Rossiter bossily. Jack woodenly agreed.

Phryne, meantime, had pulled up a chair to sit beside the Professor.

"When did you hear, Enid?" she asked gently.

"Just this morning," the older woman said, not taking her eyes from the frail form under the sheets. "The hospital telephoned me at the University – Tillie had a wage slip with my name on it in her bag. The poor girl! What a thing to happen, and on her free day!" She turned her head for a moment to meet Phryne's eyes. "Christopher gave her a little extra cash at breakfast today, to buy herself something nice, after yesterday's shock. She's got no-one else, you know. No family. Just us."

"Have you seen the doctor? How … how bad is she?" asked Phryne carefully. How difficult it was, she reflected, to ask whether one's husband and his colleagues were to be prosecuting assault, manslaughter or murder.

The Professor's logical mind, though, saw no objection to the question.

"They don't know yet. They've patched her up as best they can, but until …" hesitation, reluctance to utter the word _unless_ "… she regains consciousness, they can't really judge the extent of the damage. She has some bruising where the car hit her, but the real damage was done when her head hit the kerb."

"And you came by yourself?"

"Christopher had just started a lecture, whereas I had just finished one," she said bluntly. "I left him a message to telephone me here when he finishes."

Jack returned to stand by the bed, and Phryne looked up at him.

"Professor, I do hope that Tillie starts to show signs of recovery soon," he said politely. "Miss Fisher, I think we should see if we can speak to Miss Lawless."

"Of course, Inspector," she replied, standing and placing a hand on the Professor's shoulder. "Enid, do let us know as soon as there's any news?"

"I will, Phryne," she said, eyes once more on the patient.

They crept from the room and returned to the car. Rossiter watched them go; clearly he felt that the most useful place he could be was at the bedside of an unconscious patient. No-one was going to argue.

"Jack, it _can't_ be a coincidence that she was leaving the store!" muttered Phryne as they strode out of the hospital doors.

"I agree," he said grimly. "We need to have a word with Miss Lawless – and in particular, find out what her alibi is at the time of the accident. Perhaps we were too hasty to rule her out."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

When they were shown into the store owner's office, though, they were proved to have been almost certainly correct in their original assessment.

"Come in Inspector, Miss Fisher," she called. "Forgive me if I don't get up."

She was sitting at her desk, but at an angle. One foot was propped on a stool, and appeared to have an ice pack wrapped around it. Her left wrist was also bandaged securely.

"Idiotic thing," she commented before they had the chance to enquire. "I've been running around this place since I was a toddler, but today, for the first time, I took a tumble on the main staircase. Turned my ankle and wrenched my wrist when I grabbed for the bannister, but I suppose I should be grateful it wasn't worse. Some fool of a customer, sorry, some _valued patron of the store_ ," she grinned at them, "shoved me just as I started coming down."

She straightened in her chair and winced.

"Sorry to hear it, Miss Lawless," said Jack. "Can I ask, though, whether you saw the Satterthwaites' maid this morning? She was in the store, I understand."

She looked confused. "The maid? I don't think so. I'm honestly not sure I'd recognise her in any case. It's very different, isn't it, seeing someone in uniform in someone's house, and seeing them in their own clothing in the street?"

They agreed that it was, and there seemed little more to be said; rising, they took their leave.

Irresolute, they stood on the pavement outside the store.

"What now, Jack?"

"Well, we should probably check the remaining alibis – but there's only Camellia Lin, Christopher Satterthwaite and the Herberts that we know of." He sighed. "I've got a nasty feeling it's going to come down to anything the Collins' can glean from the newspapers, though why anyone with a grudge against Mrs Conway should also try to kill a housemaid …" he trailed off.

She took his arm. She'd once claimed that it helped her to think things through to do so, and as he tended to prefer it when she did it, he wasn't going to object.

"All right then; let's go back to City South to see if Dot and Hugh have come up with anything yet, and then … on to the University to see Christopher Satterthwaite?"

Not having anything better to suggest, he acquiesced.

Dot and Hugh hadn't just Come Up With Something. Hugh was almost hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement.

Halting their cacophonous explanations with a single hand, Jack ushered everyone into his office, sat Mrs Robinson on his side of the desk and Mrs Collins on the other. Hugh then let Mrs Collins do the talking, because he wasn't daft.

"So, Dot, what have you got for us?" invited Phryne. "What has Mrs Conway been up to, to get you so animated?"

"Miss," the younger woman's eyes were sparkling, "it's not just Mrs Conway – although we've plenty on her, especially women's rights." She clasped her hands to stop herself fidgeting.

"Miss, it's all of them. All of _you_ , I should say."

Phryne and Jack looked at one another as if to check whether what Dot had just said had actually been translated back into the original Swahili, then back at Mrs Collins.

"I'm sorry, Dot," said Phryne hesitantly, "I don't quite …"

Dot smiled, and got out her notebook – though Phryne observed that she didn't actually refer to it at all.

"Miss, you were right – the papers are full of articles about how Mrs Conway was likely to be elected, and the speeches she's made on women's education and women's rights and so on. But," she edged forward on her chair, "while I was reading one of the articles, I saw one next to it about Mrs Lin, and how she had introduced a whole new line of painted silks to the department stores. There was a lovely picture, and it talked about how she was such a strong businesswoman in her own right. Mr Lin barely got a mention."

"Then Hugh," she glanced fondly up at her husband, whose gaze was alternating between his adored wife and the two auditors, to make sure they Weren't Missing Any Of This Because It Was Important And It Was Dottie Saying It, "Hugh saw the piece about Miss Lawless. Did you know, Miss, they're opening another huge store in Sydney? It's going to have a view of the new bridge, and everything. And it's all because of Miss Lawless. They had a picture of her putting a spade into the ground for the foundations."

Phryne was already sitting back in Jack's chair, eyes half closed, considering. "And there was all that nonsense about me, wasn't there, and the cases we've had since I came back to Melbourne. Such tosh," she dismissed it, "as though I'd done it all myself instead of being part of this _excellent_ team," the warmth of her smile enveloped all those present and definitely raised at least one temperature by a couple of notches on the thermometer, "but there, in the press, nonetheless."

"What was there about Enid Satterthwaite, Dot?"

At this, Dot's expression clouded.

"Nothing, Miss. It's the only part we didn't have any explanation for."

Phryne and Jack both raised their eyebrows at that, and exchanged a glance. Miss Fisher pushed herself to her feet, and leaned on the desk as though, thought the Detective Inspector wryly, she owned it.

 _Are you trying to pretend she doesn't, Robinson?_

"Excellent sleuthing, Mrs Collins! You have, I believe, taken us well on the way to cracking another case." Turning to her husband, she extended a hand.

"We were going to go to the University anyway, Jack – I think it's all the more important now, don't you?"

He was about to allow himself to be led out of City South Police Station by the hand. She had as well grab him by the tie and drag him along over her shoulder in front of the assembled constables in the outer office.

He politely took the hand, kissed it and released it, ushering her ahead of him through the office door.

At least this way he got to admire the Fisher Sashay.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Jack turned the car through the gateposts, and passed a sign "The University of Melbourne welcomes careful drivers".

"How rude," remarked Phryne. Jack's lips twitched but he thought it better to say nothing.

The door of the main building stood wide open, and examples of Australia's flowering youth flowed in and out in a convincing display of studious endeavour. The sleuths hovered in the entrance hall, and eventually a bearded and besuited gentleman took pity on them.

"Can I help you?" Jack showed his badge and performed the introductions.

"Ah, very well. My name is Evans. Bursar."

"Thank you, Bursar – can you tell us where we might find Professor Satterthwaite? Christopher Satterthwaite, that is?"

"CPS?" mused the Bursar. "That's what we call them to distinguish them. Enid is ERS. Initials. So helpful."

Phryne reflected that economy must be a bursar's stock-in-trade, even when it came to the spoken word. The economical Bursar was leading them into an office which was currently deserted, and surveyed a very busy wall chart.

"Let me see … CPS …. Ah yes, here we are, he'll be in his room. His tutorial finishes in … five minutes." He looked from one to the other. "Would it be vulgarly curious to ask what you need him for?"

"Just a few routine questions," replied Jack easily.

The Bursar clearly wasn't convinced. "Well, be gentle with him, won't you? The poor chap's had a lot to cope with lately."

"Well, quite," agreed Phryne. "It's not every day a politician dies in one's house."

"Indeed, indeed," said the Bursar. "I confess, though, I was more thinking about the not-insignificant matter of the Vice-Chancellor position."

"Oh?" asked Jack. "Is he to take the post?"

"All highly confidential, Inspector," demurred the Bursar, conveniently forgetting that it was he who'd brought the topic up. "But I suppose it will help you understand poor old CPS' predicament. It was all a dreadful misunderstanding. The junior typist who was writing up the minutes of the meeting of the University Council and just wrote 'Professor Satterthwaite'." He shook his head. "It's perhaps understandable that CPS took it as referring to him; however, it was actually ERS who was shortlisted for the position. A crushing disappointment for him. I must say, in the circumstances, he took it terribly well."

Jack made a suitably sympathetic response, and asked for directions to the Professor's study; the second they were out of earshot, Phryne grabbed his arm and whispered excitedly in his ear.

"This _must_ have something to do with it, don't you think, Jack? He has his life's ambition snatched away from him, and by a strong woman who happens to be his own wife?"

They turned a corner and halted for a second; he nodded slowly, piecing the parts together.

"He can't bring himself to take out his anger on his wife, but has to find an outlet …" he mused.

"…so he targets other women of the same ilk. Come on, Jack, let's finish this!" She grabbed his hand and led him at a brisk pace to the huge door with _Prof CP Satterthwaite_ engraved upon it. It stood slightly ajar, and as they approached, a young man came out, almost colliding with them. Apologies exchanged, he went on his way and they tapped on the door. After a moment's pause, a voice bade them 'Enter', which they did, to see the Professor standing at his desk, talking on the telephone. When he saw who it was, he beckoned them, and indicated the chairs by the desk, speaking all the while.

"Well, that's marvellous news, my dear. Such a relief. Give her my best wishes, and assure her she will be looked after. Tell her I said so." Putting the receiver back on its stand, he turned to smile at them.

"Inspector. Miss Fisher. Such excellent news – that was my wife. Our maid, Tillie – you remember Tillie? – she was involved in a nasty accident this morning, but my wife tells me that she has regained consciousness, and the doctor believes she is out of danger." He moved to the chair behind the desk, and sat down heavily.

"Perhaps not quite the words I would use, Professor," remarked Jack, calmly. "I would say that Tillie is in as much danger as she ever was."

The Professor looked at him in confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Inspector?"

"He means, Professor, that when Tillie gets out of hospital, you plan to "take care of her" exactly as you have tried to do today – and next time she wouldn't be so lucky," explained Phryne.

The man shook his head indulgently. "My dear, I really have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then let me explain." Phryne's smile was brittle. "You knew Tillie had seen you – she told you as much – so you gave her some money at breakfast."

"Saw me when?"

"When you passed the kitchen window, on your way back from murdering Caroline Conway." Phryne warmed to her theme. "I didn't get it at first – Tillie's response to my question about strangers in the garden. But she said that she hadn't seen any strangers, and that she would have seen anyone who'd been in the garden at the time. She looked up when she said it – and she saw you, didn't she? _She was talking to you_. You came into the room straight afterwards. Then the following morning, you make a show of giving her money 'to buy herself something nice' – when in fact, you were indicating your openness to a bit of blackmail."

Jack took up the tale.

"But you weren't open to it, were you, Professor? I'm guessing that if we check your vehicle, we will find the mark where you tried to run Tillie over – just after you shoved Miss Lawless down the stairs, I expect."

Phryne chipped in with a quick question. "Do you keep your gun here, Professor?"

"No, in my desk at home – oh."

Miss Fisher's smile at engineering his admission through the most basic of tricks was coldly victorious.

Suddenly, he was no longer an urbane academic; he was just a tired, sad man who looked older than his years.

"I saw my name on the shortlist. And it was … you have no idea, the joy. The feeling that at long last, all the study, the toadying, the utter tedium of pretending to be interested in the most self-obsessed boors on God's earth for years and _years_. And then to find out that I had in fact been passed over, for my wife, who has never shown the slightest interest in career progression of this kind."

He looked at them both.

"Unbearable. _Unendurable_. I had to do something, something to right the balance again. Then I saw that article in the paper about you." He glared at Phryne, who returned his gaze, utterly unmoved. "Lauded by the Chief Commissioner, no less. For what? Playing at policing."

"It's a game that we play as a team, Professor," she responded acidly, "and one that we are good at winning."

He carried on as though she hadn't spoken.

"That dreadful Conway woman. Women's rights? Dangerous, idiotic talk. I was so very glad to watch her die – and it was so easy. As soon as Tillie took my tray away, I left the door at my side of the house and passed along to the other end, through the kitchen garden. No-one saw me, I made sure of that; but on the way back, I was in a hurry – I could hear Enid approaching, so I simply had to leave the door open and run back around to the other side of the house. Her scream covered the sound of my re-entry to the building, and when I walked along the corridor to join them, I just pushed the door closed from the inside."

He showed no sign of hearing Jack enumerate his crimes as the handcuffs were placed on his wrists; they took him to the car, and Jack sat in the back with the prisoner. Phryne drove them back to City South in a manner which would _not_ have been welcomed by the University.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Dottie," said Hugh firmly, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to put my foot down."

She raised her eyes to his, and swallowed. She loved him. She really, really did. And she knew that he was going to have excellent reasons for asking her not to go into partnership with Miss Fisher; but, oh, how it hurt to see the glittering possibilities fade away.

"You're going to have to take up Miss Fisher's offer. As … as long as you want to? You _do_ want to, don't you, Dottie? I know I get things wrong, and you have to explain to me sometimes what it is I've got wrong. But I really think you should do this – especially after you cracked this last case for her."

Dot was already glowing inwardly at what Hugh thought 'putting his foot down' looked like. And made a mental note to make sure that Meggie never got to see this side of her father.

(Her benevolent God and Charles Darwin shared a grin at her dismissal of maternal influence and the Williams genes).

"There's just one thing, Dottie. Hear me out before you say anything." He paused, swallowing nervously and praying that his suggestion came out the right way.

"You know how Miss Fisher is still Miss Fisher when she's investigating?" Dot narrowed her eyes and set her head on one side. What on _earth_ was he leading up to?

What he was leading up to was quite possibly the most modern thinking by any of the current workforce of Melbourne's finest, including Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, who was going to be blinking hard when he heard this one.

Dorothy left her husband in no doubt at all as to her approval of his idea, and while he was still recovering his poise (hard to do with a grin a mile wide on his face. There was a lot to be said for Modern Women if they were allowed to behave like that, he decided) she flew to the telephone.

"Miss Fisher, it's Dorothy. Yes, yes Hugh and I have talked a lot about it, and I'd like to go ahead with the partnership thing." She held the telephone away from her ear for a moment as it had become rather squeaky.

"Miss? There's just one thing. It was Hugh's idea, and I think it's a really good one."

She took a deep breath.

"Instead of Fisher & Collins, do you think we could be Fisher & Williams?"


End file.
